Kiss of Nostalgia
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: Alone on Christmas Eve in her little diner, Clara entertains a lonely traveller.


There's a sprig of Mistletoe hanging just over the counter in the quiet little dinner. Clara smirked up at it before shaking her head, hand continuing circles with a rag to clear off the surface for any potential customers. Customers, she thought to herself, were adventures, and no matter where or when they landed, there were always going to be people who needed a meal and a little help.

Her quasi-immortal companion had given herself a few days reprieve in the old town that sat outside their doors. The other woman didn't mind a little adventure, but her idea of winding down afterwards was always out and about, always involved a bit of alcohol, and always ended with them running away. But Clara didn't mind. It was just enough insanity for her – like raising the wildling child she imagined she'd have ended up with if she'd lived a normal life.

A normal life she would never be afforded now.

"A little fun," Lady Me had teased, fingertip tapping the Mistletoe to set it on a gentle swing just before she waved and pushed out of those front doors.

"A little fun," Clara repeated to the empty diner.

No one ever saw them, unless they needed to and perhaps, Clara considered, it was part of the programming. Her vast yet tiny dinner sat patiently awaiting a place or person in need and she sat dutifully within it to offer what she could. She huffed a laugh and shook her head, pushing the long strands of hair that had fallen from her ponytail back behind her ears, not lifting her eyes when the door opened and the bell above it jingled.

"Festive," came the gruff voice.

It was a voice she recognized, though she hadn't heard it in many years – enough that she imagined maybe she'd never hear it again, and as the Doctor sat down at the counter, eyes scanning for a menu before plucking it free, Clara frowned and turned away. If she had a heartbeat, it would be thudding away. If she had any regular function, he would have thrown it into chaos, but instead her body remained still of any irrational internal expression.

"This diner," the Doctor began softly, almost to himself before chuckling and telling her calmly, "This diner sets off a rousing bout of nostalgia in my mind." He paused and then added with a bright smile and a toggle of his finger towards the door to the console, "I suppose it's the decor."

Clara nodded, looking back to him before plucking up an order pad and leaning into the counter, giving him a sad smile she tried to fix as he perused the brightly colored menu. He pointed and then retracted the finger, tongue tucked firmly into his top lip for a moment before he glanced up at her and his entire demeanor changed. She took a feigned breath and let that cooler air linger in her lungs as his lips turned down and his eyes studied her carefully.

"You," he finally breathed, "You match the diner."

"Howso?" Clara questioned lightly.

He tapped his temple, "You touch a memory not quite there anymore."

"The nostalgia," she declared, "Must be the outfit," she told him, watching the shrug as she straightened and brushed imaginary things off the sheet before her, waiting for him to choose. Peanut butter sandwich, no crust, and a banana milkshake, she knew.

"Oh, Elvis," he whispered on a quiet laugh after he'd ordered.

She watched him as he sat patiently, eyes drifting around, and Clara found she missed the guitar and the way his fingers would strum a tune. She wondered how long ago that had been for him; it'd been at least twenty years for her. Twenty years through battles and celebrations and a dozen unexpected companions along the way. Poor folks who got picked up, shown the universe, and then went back to their lives still dizzy from the vortex and its paths.

"You look more lost than I feel," the Doctor offered, head tilting as he asked, "Are you alright?"

Spreading peanut butter heartily over a slice of white bread, she shrugged, "A bit of nostalgia about you as well, I suppose," then she smiled and admitted, "You remind me of someone I used to know."

Offering a devious look, the Doctor supplied, "Must have been an interesting fellow."

Clara smiled, " _Are you_ an interesting fellow?"

"Suppose I could be." He folded his hands and squirmed just a little, more out of adorable quirkiness than nerves, Clara knew, and she almost laughed – was this flirtatious behavior? How long _had_ it been?

She giggled, seeing the way he shifted at the sound, as though trying to place it in his memories, and then she nodded to him, asking, "What brings you around here? Not the best of neighborhoods."

"Heard there was a skirmish – this time; this place – and I thought I could help," he supplied readily, "But it was taken care of by the time I got here." The Doctor nodded and gave a pained smile and she knew – he felt he'd been robbed of an adventure. "And then someone suggested I come in here if I wanted to hear about it, or if I just wanted a bite to eat."

Eyebrows lifting, Clara sliced the edges off his sandwich and allowed a simple, "That so?"

"They said a petite brunette would tell me everything I need to know," he sighed, taking the plate she offered while she shifted to work on his shake, plucking a banana out from underneath the counter, and a bucket of vanilla ice cream from a freezer.

"There _was_ a skirmish, it was taken care of," she called over her shoulder, scooping and blending and closing her eyes.

Oh, how she'd missed the days when they'd rehash an adventure again over dinner on some odd little planet, or under the Eiffel tower as it was being built, or atop the pyramids at Giza. Clara missed his voice and the was his presence filled the air around her. She missed that odd little idea in the back of her mind when she was with him.

She was _home_ and _all was well_.

The Doctor laughed to himself, then muttered through a mouthful of his sandwich, "Hardly sounds like everything I need to know." Then he asked, "What's your name?"

"You don't need to know that," she teased as she turned, pouring the shake into a cup and setting it on the counter to dunk a striped straw into.

Nodding slowly, he waited until she was standing before him, hands planted against the counter, smiling down at him, and then he gestured upwards, "There's a tradition about these things, you know?" He shrugged, "I've been known to participate in a tradition here and there."

"Are you joking?" Clara shot, her laughter louder than she'd intended. He frowned, chin dropping, and she shook her head, "Sorry, that, _you_ , I didn't mean it _that_ way..." she trailed, seeing his eyes drift up to meet hers. "I just imagined _you_ ," she paused to correct, "I imagined s _omeone like_ you, wouldn't find this sort of tradition acceptable."

"Perhaps I'm not so much like the person I remind you of after all," he responded lightly and she detected a twinge of amusement in his voice as he looked away, picking up his milkshake to sip. "Or perhaps you didn't know them quite as well as you thought you did."

"Perhaps," she repeated on a breath.

Clara bent forward again, elbows into the counter, right palm pressed into her cheek, and she smiled calmly at him, waiting for him to glance back at her, left eyebrow raising curiously. His eyes flickered up towards the Mistletoe and then back to her and she almost laughed, wondering about what was going on in his head. Twenty years ago she imagined she would have known exactly what he was thinking, but now... what _had_ happened to him since she'd gone...

"It's bad luck to refuse," he sighed, setting the shake down.

"Have I refused?" Clara questioned sternly before smirking.

The Doctor shrugged and stated, "I thought you had."

"Technically, you never asked," she pointed out.

"And had I asked?" He proposed.

"Well," she shrugged, "It is bad luck to refuse."

He clapped his hands together and stood slowly, then asked, "The fellow I remind you of, what sort of a man was he?" He bowed his head deviously and then turned it ever so slightly, just enough to tickle her stomach delightfully as he questioned, "Was he a good man?"

She hopped up on the counter, swinging her legs over quickly and landing her feet on the stool he'd been sitting on, nodding slowly and pausing, watching the swagger drop instantly from his stance as her eyes watered. He was standing right in front of her, Clara thought, right there before her and he didn't know her name. She smiled, seeing him straighten, knowing something was amiss, but not asking. He wouldn't ask because he wanted to figure it out.

Wasn't she his mystery to solve?

"He was a good man," she told him, voice warbled by sadness. "He was a very good man." Clara laughed and nodded as she watched the sad smile that spread over his lips, "Best in the universe."

To those words, the Doctor laughed and challenged, "I doubt that could be possible, the universe is a grand place."

Laughing, she wiped at her eyes and glanced up at the Mistletoe before explaining, "It's two hours to Christmas and one before I close and it has been a very long week, so, Mr. Peanut Butter No Crust and a Milkshake, I suggest you ask me before I change my mind."

"Ms…" he began slowly, glancing over her top for a nametag before continuing, "Petite Brunette with the Big Brown Eyes and All of the Answers of Interest to Me, may I kiss you under the mistletoe?"

Clara could hear the softening of his voice just as she could see the sadness trickle back into his eyes as he waited those three seconds for her subtle nod. He was still lonely, travelling out there in the universe, and she couldn't fix that for him. It broke her frozen heart to know he would kiss her lips as a stranger and not as her Doctor, and she reached for hands already searching for hers as he stepped into her, belly leaning into her knees.

His lips were gentle, spreading warmly over hers slowly, as though every millisecond were some new request for just another millisecond longer and Clara longed to grasp him tightly and pull him closer. She could feel her cheeks warm with tears as she tugged his hands around her waist before slipping her own up around his neck to brush her thumbs into the soft silver curls that hung there.

My stars, she thought, how I've missed you.

She was crying then, openly, and she slipped into his embrace, legs dropping down so he could hold her closer. One strong palm was curled around the back of her head, the other clutched at her back as she clung to his sweater, inhaling his scent deeply before burying her face in it. She didn't need the air the universe provided, she needed him. And yet, she knew, she would have to send him on his way.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, "It's been a very long and terrible day."

It wasn't the truth and yet, in that moment, it felt it. Twenty years of adventure that she cherished, and twenty years of missing the one person in the universe she'd longed to cherish it with. Clara shifted back on the counter and she nodded slowly, eyes closed against the look she knew he was giving her – the one of determination: he would solve this problem for her. But she knew there wasn't a solution. Or rather, she knew this was the solution.

"Close up early," he told her suddenly, "Come with me a while." He laughed and she laughed with him, blinking away tears to look up at the hopeful smile he wore as he nodded, "I don't even need your name, merely your company for a few hours." He growled when he began to shake her head, and he told her, "Come on, what harm could come from a little walk with this old buffer."

Eyes closed, she thought about the universe and how much his words meant. She licked her lips and hopped off the counter before scribbling a note for Lady Me underneath 'Banana Milkshake' and taking his outstretched hand. She giggled as they rushed towards the front doors and Clara laughed as they made their way out into the snow street. The Doctor's hand held tightly within hers, she wondered whether this was a last Christmas, or simply another of many, and she smiled up at the snowflakes speckled in his hair before brushing away one on his nose.

"Wherever will we go?" She asked him lightly.

The Doctor gave her hand a squeeze and he looked up at the night sky as the flurries trickled to a stop, and then he looked to her and sighed, "Everywhere, Clara," and to her little gasp he repeated, "Everywhere."


End file.
